


what silence carved upon our souls

by wnnbdarklord



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 90 of them are odin, Child Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fantastic Racism, Gaslighting, Gen, Genderfluid Loki, Homophobia, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Past Relationships, Infinity Gauntlet, Internalized Homophobia, Loki Has Issues, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki is a mess, Mental Instability, Mind Manipulation, Mind Rape, Misgendering, Odin's A+ Parenting, Sexism, Stillbirth, Suicide Attempt, Unreliable Narrator, Violence, but forewarned is forearmed, content of the tags is not very graphic, loki has 99 problems, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wnnbdarklord/pseuds/wnnbdarklord
Summary: The trip to Jotunheim after Thor's failed coronation was not the first time Loki discovered he was Jotun. Only the last.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a pain and a half to write, but one that almost demanded to exist. Especially before Ragnarok came out, so here it is. I'll leave a more detailed explanation for the inspirations that lead to the fic in the end notes, because of spoilers. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_One for sorrow_

The room Odin enters is hushed; the normal sounds of the royal apartments are subdued and muffled in deference to what has happened. Normally bright and airy, Frigga’s chambers are now veiled in dim light, the curtains drawn, the sickly sweet smell of sweat and blood blanketing the air. Servants and midwives scurry around him, shying from his blood and gore spattered armor. Only Eir dares approach him, frowning at the ruin of his face.

He dismisses her attentions for now and instead asks after his wife. He can see Frigga huddled on her bed, her form curled over another. So small, so still. Too still. He sighs, already knowing the answer to his questions. The mood in the rooms would not be this somber affair otherwise.

“She has lost much blood, my king. But she will recover, in time,” Eir is quick to get to the point, as collected as she ever is. Even so, there is a new tightness along the line of her eyes and mouth, a grim acknowledgment of the sorrow that has fallen upon the royal family.

“The… the babe?” Odin stumbles at the question. Even he is affected by this. Such a joyous potential, an anticipation long awaited thwarted moments before its fulfillment.

They watch as a midwife approaches the queen, gently coaxing her away from the still form and taking it away. She wraps it in a blanket, taking great care not to twist its limbs or head.

Eir merely shakes her head. Odin closes his one remaining eye. Just for a moment. He cannot afford anything else. Too many Aesir births end this way; considering their low fertility, even one such death is a tragedy. Frigga has suffered two.

“Leave us,” Odin says instead, “But only to the outer chambers. I might have need of you later.”

Eir bows and obeys, rushing the remaining servants out. With a thought, Odin seals the outer chambers. It will be easier later if they do not scatter if his plan is to work. He will do nothing without his wife’s consent, especially now. A part of him, a part that makes him loathe himself the smallest bit, even thinks this will make it easier. A solution to both their problems.

Frigga does not open her eyes when he finally approaches the bed. He knows she is not asleep, for her shoulders shake. A tear slips down her cheek. Her hair is a fright, her skin blotchy red and deathly pale in parts from the effort of childbirth, and her entire form is soaked in sweat from her great effort. And she is still the most beautiful woman in all the Realms.

Gently, making sure to not jostle her or his burden, Odin sits down next to her on the bed. He touches her cheek with his left hand, wiping the tear away.

“My love, I have returned from the war. Asgard is victorious,” the words, which should have been triumphant, bellowed loudly for all of Asgard to hear escape his lips in a whisper. They taste like ashes in his mouth, bitter and weary.

Frigga opens her eyes. She startles a bit when she sees his face and he can feel the wince that threads through her at the sudden movement.

“It is nothing. A price I gladly paid to have arrived by your side again safely.” He is quick to reassure her. Frigga tries to smile, but it is a fragile thing, quickly gone.

“Would that I could say the same of my own endeavors, husband. Our baby -” her voice breaks and she looks down. She reaches for his hand and he lets her take it. Her grip is like a vice against his fingers.

“I know,” is all he says. They stay like that for a long moment, mourning what might have been. Finally, Frigga stirs.

“You are still filthy, Odin.” It is a weak jest, but it heartens him. This is proof that they will get past this, whatever comes later. His wife is a strong and worthy queen.

“I felt this could not wait,” he says. He opens his mouth, but falters instead of continuing. He had meant to bring another gift into her life, a companion for his son. Now she could well feel it is just a cheap replacement.

Before he can continue, the babe under his cloak finally wakes and moves. The quiet gurgle from it is enough to draw Frigga’s attention. She grips his hand almost painfully and he can see a terrible sort of hope in her eyes.

Odin shrugs back his cloak to reveal the treasure he has stolen from Jotunheim. The babe blinks at the sudden light, red eyes narrowing and mouth scrunching into a displeased moue. Its coloring has faded back into blue during the journey. Odin frowns. It had been the babe’s own talent that had shifted it; while a remarkable talent for an infant, it was obviously still not capable of maintaining it for long periods. Odin will have to place a geas on it if his plans are to come to fruition.

“Help me sit up,” Frigga says. Her eyes are still trained on the babe, wonder shining through. The determined set of the rest of her features stops him from arguing. He helps her prop herself up on the numerous pillows and acquiesces to her unstated demand without a word.

Eagerly, she reaches for the babe and holds it close. The moment she touches it, it once again shifts its skin to match Frigga’s paleness. Its impending cries are soothed into nonexistence at Frigga’s gentle touch and warmth.

“Oh,” Frigga breathes, a wide smile breaking out on her face. The babe gurgles and smiles back, toothless gums showing. It seems Odin’s momentary fears have been for naught.

“You have given me a great gift, husband. Another son.”

Odin blinks. That’s not quite how he has imagined this going. But he should not be so surprised at his wife’s gentle heart. Especially now, after… After. Watching Frigga coo at the Jotun babe, something in him softens. Perhaps this shall help them both heal.

The babe starts to fuss despite Frigga’s efforts. Before he can send it back to sleep or object, Frigga shifts her robe to reveal her breast, heavy with milk that had been intended for their child. The babe takes to it with gusto and soon contended sounds come from it. It must have been starving. Who knows how long it had lain there in the snow before Odin had come across it?

“What shall we name him? I know we had intended Baldr for -”

“No,” Frigga’s icy glare roots him to the spot. The next moment, she is back to smiling down at the child, gently stroking its head. Odin feels the sting of her rejection keenly. 

“He is not Baldr. Baldr is… Baldr is gone. He should have another name, one all his own.”

It would have made things much simpler to name the child Baldr, despite the ache it would bring them both until the grief fades. But perhaps his wife also has a point. He would not dishonor either child that way. One is not a replacement for the other; it would be unfair to both to name it so.

Odin watches them in silence for a moment, considering. Frigga is gentle with it, her every movement conveying how blessed she feels to hold it. Her strength is humbling. It makes him feel unworthy to have ever considered she might turn the babe away.

“Loki,” he says, thinking of the way the babe had been as light as air in his arms when he had first picked it up and carried all the way back to Asgard. So quiet, so fragile, barely there and barely noticeable.

“Loki,” Frigga repeats, her smile lifting the gloom of the room, “Hello, Loki. My son.”

The babe only shuffles, its contented suckling slowing until it lets go and yawns. After Frigga burps it, it falls fast asleep against her, one pale hand clutching a lock of her golden hair. 

It is not until Frigga is sure it is asleep that she looks back to him. For the first time since he showed it to her, she seems concerned.

“What shall we tell the people? They will not take a Jotun in the royal family kindly, especially not now.”

Odin knows that truth all too well. Even had Asgard not been at war with Jotunheim, the people of Asgard would not have taken it well. It had taken centuries for them to forget Frigga’s own origins - and Vanaheim was not a realm of beasts and monsters; it was also much more closely culturally, politically and physically tied to Asgard than Jotunheim.

“I do not wish you to worry about that. We shall present him as the child Baldr should have been; only Eir shall know the truth. The others who know what has happened here will be dealt with through vows and such.”

It is a mark of the toll the day’s events have taken on her that Frigga simply accepts this without argument. Good, that shall make what he has to do next much easier.

It will pain him to have to erase one son from history to keep the other safe, but it is something he will have to do for the good of all. Asgard will not accept a Jotun foundling in their midst and especially not after so many of their own had died fighting the monsters. Even now, Odin has heard stories of the terrible giants that have come to eat their children. Utter foolishness. Anyone with the barest knowledge of Jotnar knows that children are precious to them, even the least of them kept safe and protected from harm.

With a weary grunt, Odin rises and departs from his wife and the child. He has much to do to make sure Loki is safe. He flexes his right hand and summons Gungnir. His grip on the spear feels oddly clumsy with the knowledge of what he must do. He steels himself and tightens his grip. It is the right thing to do, and that assurance is all he needs to propel his feet out of the birthing room -

\- and into the Vault.


	2. that which alteration finds

_Two for joy_

“I can smell your flesh, Asgardians!” Loki shouts in his best attempt at a deep growl. It is not as good as Father’s when he wants to quiet bickering councilors, but quite good for a Frost Giant, he thinks. He stalks forward, eyes and ears straining to discover where his friends have hidden.

A rustle from the bushes makes him lose concentration and his illusion flickers. He takes a moment to visualize it more firmly and his skin is blue once more. The bush rustles again and he grins. But before he can scare whoever is hiding within, something bursts out of it.

He yells as Thor leaps from it, shouting his own war cry and brandishing a stick for a sword.

“Begone, foul giant! I am the mighty Thor, warrior of Asgard and I shall vanquish you!”

Thor tackles him to the ground and starts to tickle him. The impact and Thor’s words have Loki helpless on the ground, almost crying from laughter.

“Thor, stop! Stop!” He can barely get the words out through desperate breathless gasps. His illusion has long since dissipated.

“What sorcery is this? The giant was my brother all along, under a foul spell! Brother, you have been saved!” Thor sits back on his heels, grinning. Loki sits up, wiping at his tearing eyes, still chuckling, still catching his breath. He smiles up at his brother, but still kicks him. Gently.

“Oaf! We were _supposed_ to be playing hide and seek.”

Thor nods. So he didn’t just forget in his excitement, as has happened many a time before. Usually, whatever games they played tended to fall by whatever wayside Thor found his ideas in. Granted, they were often more exciting than whatever they came up with in the first place. That was why Loki never actually got around to tearing his hair out whenever Thor deviated from their agreed games.

“I know, Loki,” Thor says, face solemn. Loki is impressed. He hadn’t known that was an expression Thor even knew, let alone had the ability to pull off. The twitch of his lips the next moment ruined it, “But a warrior of Asgard never hides! They face their enemies head on.”

Loki groans in mock disbelief.

“It’s called play acting, Thor! And besides, no single Frost Giant would dare stand against four warriors of Asgard.”

“Loki’s right,” Sif says, dropping down from the tree she’d been hiding in. Both Thor and Loki jump. Sif is the best of them all at hiding, after Loki. It is just that Loki is often the one who has to find them, being the only one good at the illusions that made their play more exciting.

“There you lot are!” Fandral says, running up to them, Hogun trailing behind. They all took in the scene, Loki on the ground, Thor next to him and Sif standing over them disapprovingly.

“Did Thor run out of hiding again?”

Loki bursts into laughter at Thor’s indignant expression.

“A warrior of Asgard -”

“Should not be stupid enough to take on a Frost Giant singlehandedly,” Sif’s interjection deflates Thor’s posturing. Thor pouts, but rallies quickly enough. He jumps to his feet and puffs out his chest.

“Are you saying that I’m not a good enough warrior to take down a Frost Giant on my own?!”

Loki, Fandral and Hogun watch raptly. Prior experience tells Loki that whatever Sif’s response will be, it will be a good one.

“Yes,” Sif says evenly, not looking away from Thor’s challenging stare. The three burst into laughter. Thor glares at them and crosses his arms. Loki’s intuition prickles. Thor’s pride has taken a hit and whatever he says next might be enough to ruin all of their fun.

“What would you know about it, Sif? You’re just a -”

This time, Loki is the one to interrupt him.

“None of us are warriors yet, Thor. I’m sure that when you’re old enough, you’ll be strong enough to take on their entire army easily.”

Sif is still glaring at Thor, painfully aware of what Thor would have said. But Thor is mollified and soon regains his good humor. As usual, most of Loki’s sarcasm had escaped him.

“Aye!” Thor agrees, “And you all shall be by my side to witness such a feat!”

“I’d rather witness the feat of you sticking to the agreed game,” Sif says, loosening her posture with an eyeroll and smirk. Thor’s almost-comment has been forgiven, but not forgotten if Loki knows her.

“Perhaps tag?” Hogun’s suggestion is quiet. Loki brightens, an idea taking shape. He finally gets to his feet, brushing off bits of grass and fallen leaves.

“We can split into teams! I can cast a spell that makes the person’s skin blue upon touch. That way we’ll all know who was tagged, who needs to chase and who to run.”

The grins on the other children at the idea make Loki feel giddy; they’ve never really gone along with one of his suggestions before!

“Excellent idea, Loki!” Thor says in his best approximation of Odin’s boom, “I shall join you for the first chase! We shall be sons of Odin no more, but fierce Frost Giants attacking fair Asgard and its valiant warriors!”

With a bit of concentration, Loki casts the spell. It’s a fairly simple one as spells go, but one of the most advanced he has learned so far. He can’t wait to learn others to make their games even more exciting.

Thor’s skin is now blue, much like Loki’s. He stares at his hands before breaking into a broad grin. He turns towards Sif, Fandral and Hogun with a roar, puffing up and waving his hands. With shrieks of laughter, the three scatter.

“Come, Loki!” Thor bellows and runs after them. Laughing too much to create credible roars of his own, Loki follows.

They play for what seems like hours, running around the gardens without a care in the world. There are some disagreements whenever someone who was caught disagrees, but most are kept at bay by Loki’s spell. It’s hard to argue Loki didn’t catch Fandral when Fandral’s skin is the one that is now blue, and not Loki’s. Loki leads him on a merry chase until Sif ambushes him from the same bush Thor had.

They are so engaged in their play that Loki, who is blue once more, doesn’t notice they now have a visitor. It’s not until he runs headfirst into his father that Loki registers the peculiar silence that had fallen on the garden. He’s about to ask why, when he notices the expression on Father’s face.

He shrinks back, confused. Why would Father be so…not angry; his expression is something quieter and darker than anger. Father doesn’t say a word, but reaches out to grab his arm. Loki feels his spell break, but is too scared to make a sound. He has never seen Father act this way. He can feel the others’ stares on him and shrinks further into himself.

What has he done wrong? Before he can actually ask, his Father drags him away from the garden without making a sound.

He does not play that game again. Eventually, Thor stops asking him to and so do his friends.

 

* * *

 

_Three for a girl_

Loki stares at himself in the mirror in his chambers, the door locked and secured. After his meeting with Father, he has not moved from in front of it for the past hour. He is searching for something in his reflection that slips away from his mind just when he thinks it is within reach. It is maddening, but he cannot seem to stop himself.

He smooths his hands over his chest, adjusting his armor yet again. His movements are quick, jerky. He is almost irritated at the perfect fit, certain that there should be pressure against his chest and empty spaces at his waist. Madness. His armor had been fine the last time he had worn it, almost two decades past. Loki frowns, a headache beginning to press against his temples. No, that is not right. He had worn it but a few days ago to a dinner with some delegates. It had been nothing special or unusual, which is probably why it has slipped his mind, the exact memory vanishing like blue smoke.

The errant thought is put out of his mind by the stranger staring at him from his reflection. This is not the first time he has felt this way. But before, he’d been able to make it stop. Had he ever known how to make it stop? Or had time just dulled the memories of the other instances, smoothing the rough edges over like water over stone?

Nothing has changed about him. His face is still the same. His lips are not full, the lines of his face are too harsh, his hair is still slicked back and short, not a wayward curl in sight. His eyes are still a piercing green.

Loki leans in closer to the mirror, a frown pulling at his lips. For a moment, he thought there had been a speck of blue in his iris, an unnatural shine that did not belong. He blinks and the thought passes. He is being ridiculous - of course his eyes have always had some blue in them. They’ve never been completely green.

He cannot stand the sight of himself. With a wave of his hand, the mirror turns opaque. Relief presses down on him, so much so it almost makes him feel sick. He does not know where this urge to hide comes from and he does not want to. He does not want to know why some unnameable emotion ( _not grief, never grief_ ) hits him whenever he sees himself or why he is so much happier just…not. It grates when other people stare at him as well. Even now, the phantom itch of Heimdall watching him makes him want to scratch his skin off.

Finally, he pulls away from the mirror, putting such thoughts out of his mind. If he tarries much longer, he shall be late for training. It is high time he put more effort into his combat training rather than his magic. As talented as he is at it, magic is a woman’s art, something he is decidedly not. As much as the thought pains him, an ache far deeper than it should be - he is not giving it up altogether after all, such a thing would be dangerous - he will focus on it less. Mother will understand. As Father had mentioned, expression so mild it struck a deep fear in him he could not explain, Loki is no woman to spend so much time at it. It is good advice and he had thanked his father for it. He doesn’t understand why his father had looked so disquieted by his easy agreement. He will do this. He will make his father proud ( _he has to_ ).

Loki picks up his knives and avoids looking at the mirror again as he heads out the door.

“Brother!”

Loki flinches at Thor’s loud voice, heart giving a painful lurch. His headache has not receded - has grown worse, in fact. His head is still pounding and it is not helped by Thor dashing up to him from behind and engulfing him into a boisterous hug.

The scent of baked dirt, sweat, sunshine, and ever present static reaches him and something in him calms, muting the pain in his head. He _had_ missed Thor while he had been away. However frustrating his brother is, he has also always meant safety.

“Thor,” he says, voice low but glad.

“You have been gone a long time, brother. What studies have occupied your attention so that you did not even visit home?” There is no rapprochement in Thor’s tone, but Loki stiffens at the reminder. His time away from Asgard had been a complete waste of time, nothing but dull drudgery he can barely remember. Nothing that had challenged his studies or magic. Why had he even lingered so long?

“Shapeshifting,” the word is out of Loki’s mouth before he even registers what he had actually meant to say. It is an odd thing to focus on; while his studies on Vanaheim had included shapeshifting, that subject had not been prominent or particularly lengthy.

“A worthy trick, brother! Will you continue your studies there? Only, I had hoped you would rest a while at home before venturing further. Your presence has been much missed.”

“No,” Loki says, barely managing to stay on the polite side of curt. Thor’s questions vex him, even as part of him is glad to have been missed. Why is Thor asking so much about where he’s been? There is nothing for him left there, ( _nothing but barren burnt fields_ ) nothing to go back _to_.

“No, my studies there are done. I’ll remain in Asgard for the time being,” Loki manages to continue more calmly, though he does not miss Thor’s puzzled glance thrown his way. Thankfully, Thor lets go of pursuing it further and grins. His sunny smile lifts even Loki’s sour mood.

“Then it is a glad day! Come, we shall visit mother and then you can show me your new tricks on the training ground,” Thor says and leads him away, arm still companionably around Loki’s neck. Loki shivers at the heavy weight ( _of golden fingers pressing down)_ and follows.

 

* * *

 

_Four for a boy_

Thrym’s wedding has been a debacle from start to finish and it is only by Odin’s intervention ( _his wrath is a terrible thing to behold_ ) that the story does not spread beyond Asgard. Though thanks to Fandral, all of Asgard will probably know by morning. Jotunheim will never know what has truly happened; Odin had ordered all the dead burned and the ice scoured of blood ( _blue, a blue so dark it was almost black, blue like -_ ). Only the Bifrost rune will stand as witness to the bloody proceedings.

Loki makes his way to the common room where Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three usually congregate after an adventure, trying to avoid thinking about the lecture he and Thor had been subjected to by Father. His wrath had been great, but oddly subdued by the time they’d entered his study. The look in his eyes had made Loki shudder and he had had to fight the urge to rub at the back of his neck. It always starts to ache whenever Loki sees that expression in Father’s eyes. The sensation never fails to send a jolt of deep seated unease ( _terror_ ) down his spine. Away from his father, Loki indulges in rubbing at the spot, fingers pressing down almost painfully. The itch ( _ache_ ) doesn’t go away.

He finds his friends ( _are they?_ ) sitting around the fire. They fall silent when they see him and Loki, suppressing the instinct to freeze like prey before predators, has to force himself to keep moving under their stares.

“We shall not be punished for this transgression,” he says and the four relax, “but the Allfather has made it very clear that Jotunheim is henceforth forbidden from us.”

Sif looks displeased, but the rest nod.

“We have done the Allfather a great service, getting rid of that creature that presumed a claim on Mjolnir. And he bars us from doing such a service again?” She asks.

“Bah, let them rot in their wasteland of a realm,” Volstagg scoffs, “Tis no place for a proper warrior. No wonder they all turn out to be such beasts.”

Loki feels cold, even though he agrees with both. Jotnar are little better than monsters huddling in a broken realm; he’d get rid of the lot of them if it were up to him. Really, he can’t even remember how he kept such thoughts from his face long enough to talk civilly to one while he accompanied Thor in their disguises. A wasted effort, considering that Jotun had been the first one to turn on them, grabbing at Loki’s hand.

“And that is precisely why we shall not be punished further,” Loki interjects before Sif and Volstagg can start arguing, scratching at the hand the Jotun had grabbed, “Asgard’s involvement in this is a given, but the other Jotnar have no idea what exactly happened. It is Asgard’s word against theirs. They may not believe us, but they cannot gainsay us. So the Allfather can afford to be merciful.”

“Merciful? I’d say we did him a favor!” Fandral says from where he was sprawling. His grin makes it clear he was arguing just to be contrary.

“And that is why you’re not in the dungeons for expressly disobeying the ban on traveling to Jotunheim,” Loki says, rolling his eyes at him.

“My friends! Today has been a great day for Asgard!” Thor’s boisterous entrance makes all eyes turn to him. Thor looks as happy as only killing things ever makes him. Normally, Loki is indifferent to such a thing, but now he feels a chill down his spine. What sort of future king is so _happy_ at making war? Though it was hardly a war. More like slaughtering vermin ( _there were_ children _there, small and blue and playing like they had used to do, blue like -_ ).

The rest immediately brighten at Thor’s words; even Hogun cracks a smile.

“My hammer is restored to me and we have rid of the monsters that dared to try to test the might of Asgard. This calls for a feast!”

For a moment, Loki can do nothing but stare at Thor. A _feast_? This entire thing has been a complete and utter _mess_. Just moments ago, they’d been subjected to a stern talking to by their Father. How in the world did any of that merit a feast? Is Thor truly so tone deaf?

“Truly a glorious tale for the ages,” Loki says instead, keeping his voice wry instead of letting the bitterness seep through, “I’ll especially make sure they remember to include the part where you dressed as a bride and let Thrym feel you up.”

Thor laughs, but Loki can sense the hard edge that emerges in his posture. It is only meant to be a joke, but it seems to have struck a chord with Thor. Perhaps Thor was not as horrified as he should have been at Thrym’s advances?

“Merely a ploy to get his guard down,” Thor dismisses, not even looking Loki’s way. “Did I not smash his head in myself only moments later?”

The four nod along and agree, recounting their own moments of blood soaked glory. Loki could join in with his own moments, but for some reason his stomach curdles at the thought.

“How honorable,” he can’t stop the jab from escaping his lips. Thor’s quickness to deride Loki for his “tricks” is only ever matched by his quickness to take advantage of them when they suit him. But Thor does not take it the way Loki had meant it. Instead, he smiles and clasps Loki’s neck ( _with cold and grasping fingers and he must not resist_ ), giving him a friendly shake. It leaves Loki feeling sick, though he hides it with a smile.

“Aye! The slaying of Jotnar always is! When I am king, brother, we shall slay them all!”

The Warriors Four cheer and lift their drinks in a toast. Loki continues smiling and yet feels like dying inside. He listens and the longer they keep vowing to slay all the Jotnar, the more they feel like strangers. Loki does not know why. Jotnar are nothing but monsters and it would be right to kill all of them. They are nothing but a plague on the Realms. But their words unsettle him. They call him a coward when he refuses to laugh with them about the bloodshed ( _blue blood, so very blue, blue like his han-_ ).

The more they laugh, the more Loki’s blood freezes in his veins. For years after that, he keeps his distance, angry ( _afraid_ ) that they would speak to him so. They’re just mindless brutes, Thor and his lackeys. Brutes, all of them, reveling in death and glory as though there is nothing more to life. Much better to keep his hands clean and kill from a distance, he thinks, digging his fingers into his left palm. The blood is red.

 

* * *

 

_Five for silver_

“Say, Loki, whatever happened to that girl you were so enamoured with?” Fandral asks, eyes shining from an overabundance of liquor. They are sitting around a campfire in the middle of some Norns’ forsaken quest to slaughter whatever beast Thor has it in for this month. Loki is sitting just outside the circle under a tree. The overarching branches cast just enough shade to hide his face from the others.

Loki knows which girl Fandral is asking about. He does not wish to supply him with an answer. Though he and Sigyn had parted ways a while ago, once any sort of feeling between them died a quick death, something about other people mentioning their relationship never fails to draw his ire. They all acted so surprised to hear of their parting; as though they had not whispered behind his back that it would only be a matter of time before the Trickster, the Liesmith drove her away. He can’t quite remember what had driven the first wedge between them, but surely it hadn’t been the simple fact of his existence. She’d been a mere weaver’s daughter, if anyone should have been rejected, _he_ should have been the one to reject _her (had rejected her as her eyes filled with tears and confusion)_.

Besides, with needing to constantly accompany Thor and the Idiots Four on their gallivanting about the Realms, who has time for a relationship? It does not help that the others are making it painfully clear that they are merely tolerating him. Even Thor ( _especially Thor_ ) is just humoring him because their Father wishes it.

“Sigyn, wasn’t it, brother?” Thor joins in the mocking, pretending at sympathy and never once pausing in his drinking. Loki’s face twists in anger before he brings it back under control. The last thing he needs is to let the others see how much their nagging irks him. She is nothing, just a weaver’s daughter that he had tired of. Their insistence at bringing her up, as though she had been his one great love makes him boil with hate ( _must they take even this away from him_ ).

“Yes, Thor, that was the only woman I’ve ever been with and ever will be. Parting ways with her was so traumatic that I will never recover and will spend the rest of my days cursing Father for not allowing our union,” Loki finally replies with all the sarcasm he can muster, a wry smile on his face. From their roars of laughter, it seems he has succeeded in deflecting them. Only Volstagg eyes him strangely a moment more before joining in.

“I’m sure if you had asked Mother first, she would have made Father change his mind,” Thor jokes. Loki’s smile curdles. Father would never have agreed, even with Mother’s intervention. Not that he and Sigyn had ever gotten to the point he even would have asked ( _hadn’t they?_ ), but he is sure of it; deep in his bones he is sure of it.

“A Prince of Asgard is far too worthy a prize to waste on one such as her,” Fandral scoffs, only partially joking. Loki makes a noise of agreement, even as his mood worsens. This is not a topic he wants to dwell on ( _too many memories of utter happiness turned to grief - no,_ indifference _\- so quickly_ ), though it is one the rest are happy to dwell on forever if given the opportunity.

“And the exact opposite is true of you, Fandral,” Sif says, rolling her eyes. For once, Loki is thankful for one of Sif’s comments. As Fandral and Sif start to bicker, he takes the opportunity to slip away, deflecting Thor’s curious look with mumbling something about looking for more firewood.

It is not until their voices fade away into the peace of the forest that he can let go of some of the tension that has been building up within him the moment they had brought up Sigyn. She is not something he ever wants to think of. The irritation-bordering-on-violence he feels whenever she is brought up always feels so strange compared to his utter indifference towards the woman herself. And lately, they have brought her up many times, as though it was strange he was not upset over parting with her. What was there to be upset about? He’d only ever mentioned her to Mother once, never to Father and their relationship had died soon after ( _Mother had told Father, she had to have_ ).

There had been _nothing_ there -

Loki blinks at the sudden light. His hands are glowing with a pale green fire, the magic inside of him responding to his agitation. With a sigh, he calms himself and puts the glow out. He rubs at his eyes, the irritation of before shifting to focus on himself. This isn’t something he should lose control over. Especially because the main culprits were Thor’s lackeys. Once more, he wonders why Thor surrounds himself with such idiots. All they are good for is questing, wenching and feasting. Their loyalty is ever to Thor only, not to Asgard. They will cause trouble for everyone until Thor is crowned king. If he ever is. The more Loki sees of Thor, the deeper his unease grows when he thinks of the king Thor will make. It is the main reason he keeps tagging along, after all.

He puts such thoughts from his mind. There are years yet until Thor is to be king. So for now, he concentrates on fulfilling the excuse he took to get away from the others. On the way back, arms full of firewood, he hears the others.

Sif and Fandral have stopped bickering and it seems peaceful. He can only hear their low voices. Curious, he muffles his steps and makes sure to stay out of the light.

“You shouldn’t tease the lad so,” Volstagg says, looking as thoughtful as Loki has ever seen him. Loki is not positioned well to see Fandral’s face, so he cannot see what Volstagg reacts to next.

“It’s not very kind of you.”

Fandral sighs.

“I do not mean it to be unkind. I just find it passing strange. He doesn’t mention her at all anymore.”

Thor shifts, discomfort radiating from him.

“Leave it be, Fandral. Tis clear now it was just a passing affection,” Thor says. He does not sound convinced at all in what he’s saying. Loki is too curious now to feel much of anything at them gossiping about him behind his back.

“Then he is crueler than I thought him to be,” Sif says. What does she know, Loki almost scoffs. Her comment breaks the stillness of his emotions and his anger bubbles up once more. So much for calming himself.

“No, he is not cruel in this,” Hogun ventures. This is the first time all night that he has spoken, “Just hurt, I think.”

“What is it, Thor?” Strangely enough, Volstagg is the one to ask. Thor looks away, staring into the fire.

“I did not think on it until now. Father was not best pleased when the news reached him.”

The others grew quiet, their eyes never quite meeting.

Loki has heard enough. He backs away a few paces and deliberately steps on a stick. The crack is far too loud in the silence of the forest and the others jump guiltily. Loki pulls a mask of indifference to his face and approaches as though he has heard nothing of their talk. The quick glances of relief from the others let him know he has fooled them. Pathetic. These are Asgard’s mightiest warriors?

Talk around the fire resumes, strained at first. Their gregarious personalities emerge soon enough and the mood around the campfire brightens once more. None comment on Loki’s absence or their previous conversation. Good. It is better for all if they do not linger on it, even as his anger never truly goes away. He does not want to think about or recall why his anger always tastes like grief.

 

* * *

 

_Six for gold_

Loki stares at his hand - the hand that had turned blue - and knows, he _knows_ that he has seen this before. How and why escapes him like the blue morning mist whenever he tries to focus on it. It is maddening. The more he thinks on it, the more certain he is, a creeping paranoia that has no basis in his memories. Only a part of him screaming within to _looklooklooklook_ and _didn’tIsayMONSTERdidn’tyouknow_ and _hetookithetook_ them _took_ her _took_ everything. His heart is beating out of his chest and only the fact that he is surrounded by his enemies ( _they will kill him if they find out_ ) gives him enough strength to keep his thoughts from his face.

“How did the guard even know?”

That is the first thing the Idiots Four have said since they returned from the halls of healing that register with him. Loki snaps to attention, painfully aware of his prior lack of focus. Of course, the others had not even noticed. They never notice. Not him.

“I told him.”

Their accusations after he point blank tells them he had saved their lives is almost enough to drown out the chaos within him. When Sif _tells_ him to go to Odin, his insides freeze with terror. He cannot go to Odin. Odin will be so angry… Odin will -

And bring Thor back? Thor will kill him ( _slay them all_ ) if what Loki saw is true ( _it is it is it is he’s always known he didn’t belong and now he knows why_ ).

So he transmutes his fear into rage ( _familiar, so familiar, it feels like he’s always done this but he can’t_ remember _when it started_ ), snaps at the four and walks out of the room, pretends not to hear Sif’s words. They can see nothing beyond jealousy in his motivations. They never have and never will see anything else.

Loki knows, he _knows_ , but he has to make sure. Once he is sure, he can go. Run. Go somewhere to straighten things in his head, go somewhere Odin cannot reach ( _into_ ) him. His neck aches.

He strides towards the Vaults, though every fiber of his being is screaming at him not to. He does not want to go there ( _not again_ ), but he must if he is to know. He has to use all of his willpower not to shake as he passes the guards, to not vomit from the nausea roiling through him. He fixes his goal in his mind and marches, his world narrowing to the plinth in front of him, where the glowing blue of the Casket mocks him.

The shade of the color stops him in his tracks. He can’t seem to move and his breaths come in sharper and sharper gasps and he can’t breathe, he can’t - His vision darkens, muting the vivid glow in front of him and it is only then that he can inhale, a deep gasping breath. He closes his eyes and stands there for a long while, rubbing at his chest. He shivers and realizes he is soaked in sweat, nervous and aching.

His entire body aches, but it is nothing compared to the pounding in his head. He does not want to be here. He’s never wanted to go to the Vault. The last time, even Odin’s and Thor’s presence had almost not been enough to make him enter. Only the chill left behind from the Frost Giants had reminded him that not following after them was as good as admitting his guilt. It had been easier to think in the cold, to not let that nameless fear overwhelm him.

Even now, he feels as though he is being watched. He always feels he is being watched in the Vaults, though there is nothing here that _can_. He has long learned to hide from Heimdall’s sight and often does so, when the Gatekeeper’s eyes feel like sandpaper against his skin ( _they always feel like sandpaper against his skin, but sometimes it is bearable_ ).

He opens his eyes once more, but the Casket does not seem so menacing now. It is just an object, swirling with the power of the storms trapped within. Loki approaches it, hands trembling. He is fighting not to look behind, into an alcove he had studiously not looked at when approaching the Casket. All of his being is focused on not becoming aware of what is there. His neck prickles with awareness even as he lifts the Casket.

A cool feeling sweeps over him and it is almost a relief.

Odin’s voice makes him grip the Casket convulsively. No. _Nonononononononono_. No one is supposed to see him like this. No one should _know_. They will only see a monster ( _he is a monster, they are all monsters_ ) and kill him and he cannot bear his family killing him ( _they had loved him once, hadn’t they?_ ). Still, he manages to put the Casket down and face Odin.

There is no surprise on his face, not that Loki really expected any. But the tired resignation is not something he expected _(anger, rage, exasperation at going through this again)(this is the first time)(is it?)_.

“What am I?”

He knows and Odin knows and Odin will - Odin will…

“You are my son.”

“What more than that?”

Tell the truth, tell the truth for once, do not hide, why do you keep _hiding_? Loki wants to scream at him, wants to peel his own skin off and claw his eyes out of his skull so he would not have to feel and see what Odin will say, how he will react. He does not want to give him the chance, not again ( _again?_ ). He feels as though he is cracking open, everything that he is spilling through cracks, trying to escape a net not of his own making. It burns, but he is so close _whywhywhywhy_ -

Odin is speaking, but Loki can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears. Talks of innocence and alliances, of kingdoms united and lying, he is _lying_. Loki is naught but a stolen relic, a plaything for Odin’s amusement. Put the Jotun in a cage and watch it play pretend.

“No, I only wanted to protect you from the truth,” Odin insists. And perhaps he believes that, but everything inside Loki is crumbling down, centuries of uncertainty and a sense of something _wrongwrongwrongwrong_ -

Odin takes a step down the stairs towards him.

Loki snaps and starts screaming. Everything spills out and Odin falters under his words. He looks exhausted, but is still reaching for him. Loki approaches until he is standing over Odin, almost snarling in his face, ready to- to-

Odin slips into the Sleep and Loki stops. The chaos in his mind breaks and settles over him like a blue wave. He stares at Odin and feels so many things he ends up feeling nothing. A strange calm settles over him, even as he starts to shiver again ( _shock, he is in shock_ ).

He calls for the guards and they take Odin away. Loki sits on the steps for a long while, just staring ahead. When he gets to his feet, he ignores the stiffness of his limbs and just leaves the Vaults and its shadows behind.

There is so much he has to do.

 

* * *

 

_Seven for a secret ne’er to be told_

Loki dies and Death is there waiting. Relief presses down on him and he reaches for her. She does not step away, but Loki cannot move closer to her either. _No, please no_. He just wants to rest.

The sand stretches between them in the gloaming twilight under a sky filled with stars. They are but an arm’s breadth apart. They are an entire desert apart. There is no wind, but Death’s robes shift in a constant dance, now the void, now the night sky, a supernova, a black hole, but never still, never steady.

Loki can see her face, but if you were to ask him, he would not be able to describe her features. He would know her anywhere, even though he knows he will not remember her once she leaves. She stares right back and he can sense…something. It is an abyss he dare not look too closely at, but the feeling is almost apologetic.

“Why?” He is resigned. There will be no rest for him, though he had dared to hope.

_Because you are the only one I can reach who is positioned to act._

Loki laughs and it is bitter. Always a tool to further other’s purposes. Death accepts his disdain without rancor. One such as she has certainly seen it all before.

_I have. Cycles within cycles, patterns echoing throughout time. Each the same and each different. It does not get easier. But it must be done._

“I know.” He does not want to, but does.

_You think you know._

What? There is only one reason Death would come to him. What other reason could there _be_?

_You know part of it. But not all. I am sorry. It is necessary._

Before Loki can react, Death is right before him, the abyss that is her gaze staring into his soul. She lifts one bone pale finger to his forehead and -

_Loki falls._

_A Titan smiles at such a perfectly primed gift, reeking of Mind._

_——_

vi.

_Odin steps down the stairs of the Vault towards him. No, towards an alcove to the side, dark and evil. Loki can’t allow him to -_

_Loki is screaming over Odin’s prone form and still Odin reaches a right hand for something behind him and Loki can feel the power gathering_ overintothrough _him until it breaks as Odin slips into Sleep._

_——_

v.

_Odin is almost irritated as he makes Loki follow him into the Vault, muttering something about worthiness and timing. Loki trails behind, dread rising in him to replace the hope he had come with. Happiness curdles in his chest as they go down the stairs and Odin veers left. Loki does not want to move forward, but something forces his feet to follow._

_He stops at the base of the steps, facing the Casket of Ancient Winters. He can feel his father approach behind him, feel as Odin’s sigh brushes the back of his neck. His previous joy has turned to ashes in his mouth. His eyes tear, but he cannot close them._

_“What put such a foolish notion in your head, I will never know,” Odin says, disappointment heavy in his tone, “You are a prince! She’s just some common girl, a passing fancy. I’d hoped ignoring the two of you would make you realize she was just a distraction.”_

_She’s not! She’s not! Loki wants to yell, but his throat is paralyzed. She loves him, he thinks. He had just wanted her to meet his family, ask for permission to marry. He knows, he_ knows _princes do not often have the luxury to marry whom they wish, but he has never asked for anything else, wanted anything else more and surely this would signal to his father he has no interest in the throne? Please, he just wishes for one thing to be_ his _._

_“This is for your own good, my son,” Odin says. Loki is shaking. Father truly believes that. “Put such notions aside and look to your brother. He shall need your aid in the coming years.”_

_There is a touch of cold metal against his neck and his world turns blue. Bile rises in Loki’s throat and he fights. He fights with all he has, but the blue is all there is and even as he fights, he can feel Sigyn slipping away -_

_He is screaming, even as he stands completely still under Odin’s onslaught._

_An age passes before Odin takes his hand away. It is only now that Loki can gasp for breath as he falls to his knees. A drop falls on his hands and he frowns. There are tears on his cheeks, still falling from his eyes. Why was he crying?_

_Loki gets to his feet on unsteady legs and turns to face Father. He looks wearied and pale, the way he does whenever he has accomplished a great working. His right hand is hidden in his robes, but Loki thinks he can see a glint of gold._

_“Father?”_

_“I’m fine, my son.” Father looks strangely sad. Regretful. “Go fetch Sigyn.”_

_Sigyn? That girl he’d been fooling around with? What in the world would Father want with her? Still, Loki knows better than to ask._

_“Of course, father.”_

_He leaves the Vault, absently rubbing at the hollow feeling in his chest._

_——_

iv.

_Thor is blushing! He is actually blushing at Thyrm’s advances and Loki wants to laugh so badly. He doesn’t, mostly because it is not his business and because he is having a surprisingly fun time conversing with Angrboða. Even the Warriors Four seem to be having a good time mingling._

_The Jotnar are not at all what he expected them to be. So many tales in Asgard of them as monsters, but this close he can see they are simply people. Perhaps less civilized, less refined, but people all the same._

_It is hard to think of them as monsters when he can see their children running around, shrieking in glee at his illusory fireworks. Angrboða laughs at the children’s delight and Loki’s heart skips a beat._

_As though they notice, their eyes lock with Loki’s and a sly smile appears on their face. They reach out their hand and Loki takes it, heart pounding with something strange. He gasps as the Jotun takes his hand, a cool rush running down his arm. He stares at the revealed flesh, fear starting to replace his earlier anticipation._

_“What-” is all he gets out before the Bifrost slams into the ground. Loki feels bile rise in his throat when he sees that one of the children had been right in the Bifrost’s path; they’ve been cut in half cleanly, edges cauterized by the blast._

_Odin and his soldiers emerge from the light and none waste any time before beginning the slaughter. Loki sees Thor fumbling with his skirts in a panic before summoning Mjolnir and joining in. At least he is not enjoying this, Loki can see. And even he hesitates to slaughter children. Odin does not._

_But Loki cannot move, staring at the bodies around him, at the blue blood soaking the ice beneath his feet. Loki blinks and his gaze follows the blood to Angrboða’s unseeing eyes. He thinks of the blue his hand had turned and knows - that could have been him._

_Father is in front of him. When did he get there? He is yelling something, but Loki feels as though he is listening from the bottom of a well. Odin looks angry. He looks so angry._

_Loki makes an effort and it soon enough becomes clear what Odin is yelling._

_“Cavorting around with these animals! Princes of Asgard playing dress up after being outwitted by a beast! Were you not my sons, I would leave you to rot here with the rest of them.”_

_Odin’s eye drops to Loki’s hand. He knows, Loki realizes. He knows. Heimdall had seen, had told him. But Odin only sighs and with a wave of his staff, the Bifrost gathers them all away again._

_He drags all of them to the Vault, first dealing with the Warriors Four. Thor stays by Loki’s side, unusually quiet. He looks puzzled. Loki is as well, though there is a sinking resignation that this has happened before, and will happen again. He cannot move though. Cannot run. Why can't he run?_

_Thor is next, walking past his friends. The four look dazed, but soon recover, laughing at what sport they had with the Jotnar! They were only monsters, after all. Loki feels sick, feels the secret of his false skin keenly. For the first time in his life, he is afraid of them. Of what they might do should they ever realize what they have in their midst._

_Loki’s turn is next. His feet drag him into the Vaults unwillingly._

_Gold glints in Odin’s hand, but Loki cannot turn his head away from the Casket to look properly. Metal fingers dig into the back of his neck and then his world is pain, tinged in blue fire._

_——_

iii.

_Loki is on her way home when she notices the Bifrost touching down near her house. She freezes, surprised. Then she grins and starts running towards the light. She hadn’t expected her family to look for her yet; she’s only been gone a few decades. But now that they’ve arrived, she can introduce them to her family. Aesir law prevents her from bringing her mortal husband and children into Asgard and she hadn’t been willing to leave them alone to visit. Her youngest is only three, after all. Perhaps Mother has come? Surely they will love her family as much as she does? Surely -_

_There is smoke on the hill. Black, billowing, acrid smoke. She breaks into a run, just in time to see her father blast the last wall of her little cottage down. She is not even aware she is screaming until she barrels into Odin with full force, clawing at his face. She forgets her magic, attacking Odin like a rabid animal._

_“Enough!” He snarls, face twisted with such disgust; Loki has never seen such an expression on his face and_ never _aimed at her._

_“What have you done?! My family! My children!” She persists, even though part of her knows it is hopeless. She cannot hope to defeat Odin in combat or seidr._

_“Your family is in Asgard! You debase yourself by lying with these vermin! You are my SON, not a woman to spread your legs so! One day, you shall thank me for this,” Odin roars back at her, grabbing at her wrists. His hand is like a vice, punishingly strong and merciless. Loki kicks out instead, knocking him in the jaw. It doesn’t loosen his grip. He shakes her like a rag doll, leaving her dazed._

_“Heimdall!”_

_The Bifrost takes them away. She screams, a howling sound from the depths of her soul. She is still screaming as they arrive in Asgard. She screams at Heimdall to help, but he only watches, golden eyes cold. When he does nothing, she screams obscenities at him until Odin pulls her away._

_She can see the bridge and a sudden calm overtakes her. Odin does not relax his grip on her, but his shoulders become less stiff._

_“You’ve come to your senses then. Good. You know why I do this. It is for your own good and the good of Asgard. You are a prince and you shall comport yourself as such. Now get out of that ridiculous shape and we can put this all behind us.”_

_Loki doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even look at him. Her eyes are fixed on the swirling waters below them. There is a yawning emptiness within her breast and she cannot hold back her tears. Gone, they were gone. Her own father…_

_“Loki,” Odin snaps, shaking her. Finally, she locks eyes with him. He looks weary. Irritated. As though she was still a child and what he’d done to her was nothing but a punishment for stealing sweets from the kitchens._

_Loki shoves at him with all her might and they stumble one step, two and then over the bridge. It only works because she has taken him by surprise. But their fall is halted by Heimdall, who had grabbed for his king. Odin still had a hold of her. Heimdall pulls them up, even as she shrieks and screams and pulls. Odin doesn’t let go and soon they are back to safety._

_“Worthless boy!” Odin hits her. She reels and the only thing that is holding her up is his hold on her._

_“I had hoped I would not have to do this, but if you wish to be difficult, then so be it.” It’s the last thing she hears before everything goes dark._

_She comes to in the Vaults. Her head is spinning and she shakes, nausea wracking her body. Someone is behind her. Before she can turn to look, something clamps against her neck; a gauntlet by the feel of it. It tangles into her hair, pulling so sharply she cries out._

_“Look at what you force me to do, boy,” Odin says, still angry, but no longer enraged, “And now it is come to me to fix your mess, as always.”_

_A sudden feeling of deja vu hits her, a certainty that this has been done before. What did Odin fix before? What has he changed? What will he change? Why does he even need to? Is Loki not enough as she is? Why -_

_Her moment of grief turns into rage. Her magic boils under her skin and she lets it out, blasting Odin away from her. Or it would have, but he still has a firm hold of her. She screams once more and conjures flames. They spread from her into the Vault, but Odin bats it aside. She claws at him, but her leverage is nonexistent. All she can do is break her nails against the metal of the hand holding her._

_Odin makes a noise of disgust and heaves. She doesn’t have time to stop fighting before her head meets the wall. She slumps, gagging at the way her head is spinning._

_“Do not fight me again, boy.”_

_His words echo strangely and Loki can almost see them in front of her, blue and sharp, digging into her skin. It hurts and she starts to cry, but only weakly._

_Nameless concepts dig their claws into her - him, into HIM (you are a manmalemaleman) - and he cries out as his body shifts without his consent and it feels wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong and even as this happens he can feel his memories of his family being ripped away even as he fights with everything that he has to keep them. It is useless under Odin’s onslaught. Soon, nothing remains of them (who?) but an empty yawning pit inside him. Something is gone and he can’t remember what it is. He wants it back, wants -_

_Odin releases him and he slumps against the wall. He cannot move. Over his own sobbing breaths, he can hear his father’s ragged gasping._

_“Father?” What has happened to him?_

_“It is nothing, my son,” Odin is quick to reassure him, “Just an old man’s weariness. Go to your rooms.”_

_Worried, but still dazed enough to obey without question, Loki staggers to his feet. He leaves Odin leaning against the wall of the Vaults, one hand against his face, the other dangling at his side, encased in a golden gauntlet._

_——_

ii.

_Father’s grip on his upper arm is bruising._

_“Father?” Loki asks, afraid. He’s never seen him like this before, face clouded with a quiet fury that scares him. What has he done wrong? They were only playing. Father’s grim demeanor doesn’t ease until they reach the Vaults. Scared, but more curious now, Loki takes the opportunity to look around. He and Thor had only had their lesson here a few short weeks ago; it was what had prompted their play in the first place._

_Father sighs and finally looks at him. His face softens and Loki feels his fear ebb away. Father was just worried and had covered it up by being angry. Loki has seen it happen before, though never directed at him._

_“Father?” Loki prompts again._

_“Ah, my boy. What I do now is only for your own good. Do you understand?”_

_Loki nods. He doesn’t. Father surely sees this, but smiles anyway._

_“This shall be our secret,” Father says. Loki brightens. He loves secrets. He nods, more enthusiastically._

_Father takes him to a dark alcove near the entrance. Seidr tingles against his skin and suddenly, Loki can see a golden gauntlet standing on a plinth. Jewels glitter along the knuckles. Loki can feel the swirling energy of it. Whatever it is, it is powerful._

_Father takes it and puts it on his right hand._

_“What is it?” Loki is fascinated. The power of the gauntlet is mesmerizing, if scary._

_“Something that must be used with great care,” his father says, face shadowed with memory, “The twin artifact of something much worse, used to balance and channel its power. This has only remnants. But it is a powerful tool in the right hands.”_

_Father’s hands. Father would never use it for bad things, Loki knows. Father protected all the Realms._

_“What are you going to use it for?” Loki asks. This is exciting. He’s always wanted to watch his father do great magic._

_“Just a reminder,” Father says, so softly Loki can barely hear, “To keep you safe. No one must know or suspect. It is too dangerous to play such games, Loki.”_

_“Father?” Loki is not sure he likes Father’s tone. But before he can move, Father places the Gauntlet against his neck. The metal is cool on his skin. It prickles from the cold and the ensuing jolt of fear._

_“Father?” Loki asks again, looking into Father’s eyes. Father looks away, expression almost ashamed._

_“This will be easier if you do not resist.”_

_“Wha-” his question is cut off by his gasp of pain as blue fire races across his mind. It washes over him like a wave, burning and scorching. He whimpers, but cannot scream._

_The next thing he is aware of is being held by his father, his tears soaking through his robes._

_“Hush, it is all right, my son. It is over.”_

_“What happened?”_

_Father brushes his hair back and Loki flinches. He freezes, unsure of where that had come from. Father doesn’t seem to notice._

_“Nothing you need worry about,” Father says, lifting him up into his arms. Loki pulls closer, suddenly feeling very tired. He only nods, sleep already pulling him under._

_“Rest, Loki. Rest.”_

_——_

Loki comes back to life on Svartalfheim, screaming.


	3. Epilogue

_One for a bird you must not miss_

The old man is glad to find his usual bench unoccupied. It is a bright day and the park is full of families, adults, children, their pets, all manner of people and creatures. The sounds of nature are overlaid against the hive of activity that is people enjoying the outdoors. He likes the park on days like this, full of vigor and life.

He settles down, wincing at the creak in his old bones. The night had been cold and miserable, but the sun quickly warms him. He settles his pack down next to him. As though it were a signal, caws sound from the nearby trees and a pair of ravens flock to his side, pecking at his coat. He chuckles and waves them away. Smart birds. He reaches into his coat and removes the bag of seeds he spent the last of his money on. He can always beg for more later, as much as swallowing his pride to do so is sometimes difficult.

He knows the ravens are smart enough to find food on their own, but it is nice to have something to look after. It makes him feel more important and the days more bearable. Sometimes, he imagines he can hear them speak to him, whispers in a language he should be able to grasp if he only tries a bit harder. Most days he doesn’t try. No need to become the _crazy_ homeless man with the ravens.

A shadow falls over him. He frowns and trains his one good eye on the person standing in front of him, blocking the sun. It is a young man, pale and dark haired, wearing too fine a suit for a day in the park. Certainly too fine a suit to be talking to one such as him.

“Is this seat taken?” The young man’s voice has a soothing timber, refined and gentle. He is pointing at the other end of the bench. The old man grunts and shrugs his agreement.

“My thanks,” the young man says and sits down. He watches him sigh and tilt his head back to bask in the sun. There is something sad and faintly familiar about the lines of the young man’s face. He looks drawn, tired. As though something terrible has weighed him down and still is.

“You look troubled,” the old man is almost surprised by speaking. It feels as though he hasn’t spoken to anyone in a long, long time. His own voice surprises him, hoarse and gravelly.

The young man looks at him. His eyes are very green in the sunlight. There is a piercing quality to them and he feels as though he’s being dissected down to the bone. He suppresses a shiver at the scrutiny.

“I suppose you could say I am,” the young man pauses. For a moment, he wonders if the other man will even continue. But he does, his eyes finally leaving his own single one and staring into the distance.

“Have you ever been so profoundly betrayed by someone? That they’ve taken your family, your loves, your very self?”

“Aye,” the old man knows such a thing is true, though he doesn’t remember how. He doesn’t remember a lot of things, but that has never really bothered him much until now. What a strange turn this conversation has taken. But he is too intrigued to question it.

“What would you do if you could face the man who did that to you? If you had him at your mercy with no one else to see?”

It feels like a hypothetical question. The old man knows it isn’t. He looks away, and throws some more seeds to his ravens. They caw and hop around the long limbed fellow, pecking at the food. Finally, he says, “I’d ask him why.”

He glances at the young man, unable to glance away again when he catches that piercing, burning stare.

“And then I’d kill him.”

The young man frowns, but nods, almost absently. Then he laughs, a short, jagged, _mocking_ sound that twists something in him. The green eyes are filled with a sort of loathing and pity. The old man shifts, suddenly uncertain.

“Well…Well, isn’t that something? I’ll be sure to remember that. One day, I hope you will too.”

Without another word, the young man rises and strides away. The old man follows him with his eye until he disappears. The sun is still shining, but he cannot seem to get warm again.

He shivers, alone on his bench, ravens cawing around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this fic came from three places:   
> 1\. galaxysoup's excellent Darkness, flooded in light  
> 2\. the end scene in Age of Ultron where Thanos has a left-handed Infinity Gauntlet  
> 3\. the Infinity Gauntlet in Odin's vault is for a right hand
> 
> Those all combined with a previous idea I had that Loki freaked out so hard in Thor 1 because it wasn't the first time he discovered he was Jotun, it was just the first time Odin wasn't quick enough to wipe him of the memory. 
> 
> The little gruesome detail in the fic where they're on Jotunheim was inspired by a scene in Thor the Dark World where Heimdall takes along half a car to Asgard, as well as Thor and Jane. 
> 
> As always, comments and/or kudos are most welcome :)


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